


130 Prompts #2 - Temptation

by FountainPenguin



Series: Lavender Train [16]
Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: Alien godchildren, Asexuality, Awkward Conversations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Difficult Decisions, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Far Future, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Hiccup Anti-Cosma, Horny Teenagers, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Karma vampires, Kissing, Magical beings drunk on candy and soda, Multiple Personalities, Neck Kissing, Romantic Fluff, Romantic asexual/Aromantic allosexual, Snow, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, Wanda shares her backstory, magical politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FountainPenguin/pseuds/FountainPenguin
Summary: Having taught their counterparts Poof and Goldie some Anti-Fairy cultural dances, Foop and Anti-Marigold slip outside the cabin to take a walk and have a romantic talk about the most romantic of subjects: Politics.





	130 Prompts #2 - Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a direct sequel to "Watch and Learn", which revolved around Poof and Goldie.

 

 **2\. Temptation** (Evening after "Watch and Learn")

_Year of Fire, Winter of the Dancing Sunset_

* * *

Anti-Marigold had heard Foop describe his counterpart as "dumb as a genie at a water park" before, but this was pushing it even for Poof. If Foop hadn't been grading papers for that Advanced Counterhexing class he TA'd this zodiac cycle, if Goldie hadn't been washing off her make-up in the enormous bathroom, if Wanda hadn't been scrubbing the lingering white flecks out of several mugs that had been used and only hastily rinsed out for a week straight by this point, if Cosmo hadn't been playing retro racing video games with their godkid downstairs, then maybe she wouldn't have been the only one who smelled the tang of peppermint and gritty sugar powder in the air. And this was coming from an Anti-Fairy, too. Not exactly the sharpest nose in the cabin.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she slipped through the ectothermic chamber and out the back door. The door didn't even squeak when she opened it, but Wanda still called out and ask where she was going at this time of evening. She cursed behind her teeth. Stupid fairy aura sensing powers.

"Just out for a few minutes," Anti-Marigold shouted down the hall. "It's plenty warm in here for y'all Seelie, but I need some fresh air to cool off. Don't worry about me, sheila. I've got my scarf. Took all the bright blue yarn we had for miles in Anti-Fairy World, but I knitted it myself, you know. And I have Anti-Poof's sweatshirt too. I won't freeze my earrings off either. Be back in two shakes."

She'd even put on boots, even though they were Foop's. As an anti-will o' the wisp, she didn't have opposable toes, and the tips of the boots pinched her feet in a weird place. Not that that was super unusual. She'd been paying extra for Fairy shoes ever since she'd first held a wad of lagelyn bills and coins. Of course, when Foop had stopped by her dinky little apartment to invite her along for a trip, he had neglected to mention they were  _poof_ ing several dozen solar systems over to a completely frozen planet. Not that she didn't have the magic to wish up her own snow stuff. Her wand was inside on the kitchen table, and even though they were way, way far from the Big Wand, she was pretty sure she could squeeze out enough power to spare. It was just that, well… if she did that, she wouldn't get to put on Foop's boots.

… It was complicated.

And the flakes came tumbling  _down_. They caught in her eyelashes and made her think of sneezing the same way watching someone yawn made her think of doing that. Tight snow and patches of ice crunched with every step. Even with her wings dangling down her back and the helium gasket in her head on standby, she didn't weigh enough to really leave prints. The only tracks in the snow were those of the resident fairy godchild. He'd more than made up for working solo; he'd left behind hundreds of them, tiny and sprinkled everywhere.

Anti-Marigold bundled her hands in the pockets of Hiccup's purple sweatshirt and trudged across the hill to the garage shed. Wind and flecks of hail buffeted her face. That was how she'd picked up the scent of smuggled candy, after all- on the wind. Wanda, working at the sink, had been admiring each decorated mug with the kitchen window shut. Anti-Marigold had been facing backwards in her chair and watching the shed ever since Poof had slipped out to it fifteen minutes ago. So, when the wind had carried the scent over the hill and through the front room window, she'd been the only one to notice. That was it. That had to be it, because no parent would pick up the smell of peppermint and just… ignore it.

And there he was. Not even  _in_  the shed, but around the side of it. Anti-Marigold paused by the covered water pump, not sure if he'd noticed her yet or if she'd have to clear her throat to get his attention. Crikey, was he out of it, if he, a  _fairy_ , didn't sense her standing there. He held the candy cane like a bouquet of roses in his fist, his head tilted back so he could watch the sparkly clouds of effervescence he occasionally expelled take the forms of running animals above his head until they faded away. He'd swirl the damp tip of the candy cane through a clump of blue powder in a Ziploc bag in his other hand, then bring it to his lips and lick it off. The cycle would start again. After she'd watched Poof shape a glittering hunting dog, a galloping horse, and a fox on the run out of his own eager magic, Anti-Marigold finally leaned her elbow against the door frame and decided to speak.

"That's an awful habit, sailor. You'll give yourself  _and_  your counterparts diabetes."

Poof watched the trio of sugarbreath animals dissolve into nothingness. Then he shifted his eyes over to her. He'd had gray circles beneath them ever since they were kids, but in the pale glow of Delki's six small moons, somehow both they and his pinkish gyne freckles looked more enunciated than ever.

"Thanks," he said. "I gotta, y'know? There's too much power up inside my fat head… I've always gotta let it out somehow." He brought the sharp end of the candy cane back to his mouth, his fingers wrapped around the hook. He slurped straight peppermint off it, then added, "It's kind of better that I get it out of my system this way than I just let it rip out the other end."

"I feel that, mate."

Poof smiled and lifted one eyebrow. He stretched an arm towards her, the Ziploc bag dangling between his forefinger and thumb. "I only added a  _little_  Smile Dip anyway. You want some? It's raspberry apple."

"No thanks, but I'll take a cane, if you've got a spare."

He rummaged in the pockets of his purple parka, then found a fruit-flavored one and held that out to her instead. She took it, stripped it of its wrapper, and leaned back to flick the candy cane from one side of her mouth to the other. "Well. Your dad and girlfriend were talking about you. He saw my eyes and had a few questions."

It took several seconds for Poof to process the words. When he did, he lazily turned his head. "She having fun?"

Anti-Marigold pursed her lips around the candy cane. "Crikey, you really are minted, aren't you? What's in this junk?" She grabbed the Smile Dip baggie back from him and flipped it over, squinting at the writing smeared across the top in red marker.

"Sugar and dye, I think."

"No kidding, mate. This stuff ain't even legal in Hy-Brasil." She tossed it back. "Do your parents know you're out here?"

Poof shrugged. The two major exit points of magic on a Fairykind body were the mouth and the right hand. With both of these closed, the effervescence inside him had few paths left for escape, and chose his nose. Anti-Marigold watched two thin trails of glittering steam, visible in the cold, leak from his nostrils and swirl together in the air. The steam morphed into a lioness on the prowl before the Delkian wind swept it off towards the cabin.

"Huh. The news crews made a big deal about you kicking the habit a few months back, y'know. We heard it all the way in Anti-Fairy World, Mr. Popular."

"The news guys don't have to know everything about me." Smiling, Poof leaned his head back against the shed. Anti-Marigold pushed both hands deep in her hoodie pocket and mimicked him.

"Why'd you decide to pepper up tonight?"

"I dunno. Just stressed. My magic flares up when I'm stressed." The words 'flares' and 'up' slurred together.  _Flurzup_. Anti-Marigold flipped her cane to the other corner of her mouth again. It had started to sharpen already, the point cutting at her gums.

"Yep. Stress is the worst. What's munching at y'all? Bet it's heaps serious."

Poof removed the cane from his mouth and pressed it back in the Smile Dip. Chunks of blue powder had started to turn green from mixing with saliva globs. "Huh… Promise you won't tell Foop?"

"Nah, mate."

"See, Goldie and I did the blitzing thing back in September."

Oh.

Anti-Marigold took several seconds to find and focus on her inner calm. Then she raised one eyebrow. "Congrats?"

"You should have been there… It was crazed over. Fin knows. I didn't tell Sammy." He trailed off and sneezed. When he did, two rows of blooming chrysanthemums popped up out of the snow, bright and ready to face the day. Too bad for them. In this cold, they weren't likely to last 'til morning. Poof spotted them, grunted, feigned a kick in their general direction, and popped his cane in his mouth again. There wasn't that much of it left by this point.

"I take it there were regrets," Anti-Marigold guessed. "About…" What was the Seelie euphemism for 'singing together', again? "Sleeping with Goldie."

Poof scratched his neck, then shrugged. "It was fun, but I kind of thought… Maybe we should break up, though. It feels different between us now. I can't get pregnant so long as Fin's around and I let him be in charge. It's okay to do it sometimes. But I dunno. It's weird. By Anti-Fairy standards, I guess me and Goldie are late bloomers to have like, waited so long after getting our adult wings and stuff? I got mine over six thousand years back. But we're still young for adult Fairies. I dunno. It's weird to think about it. And weirder when I think about humans. They age different than we do. Huh. That's weeeird."

After a long suck, Poof glanced over at her again. He shifted his wings, for the first time orienting his body to face her head-on. "Hey, you've got blue eyes now. They used to be red. You caught the iris virus off Foop, huh?"

"Yep. Going on two months, so…" She shrugged too. "Sorry, mate. I would've swung by Poofypants to show off earlier, but I had work. You get it."

"Where you working?"

"Little Olympus. I just started. That little sandwich shop across from that huge fancy candle place, just inside your border on Plane 5?"

"Oh, I've been there before… Was it fun?"

"The sandwiches?"

"Foop."

"An experience."

"Sparkly."

"Yeah."

Poof blew out a stream of effervescence that turned into a leaping gazelle. It bounded into the garage shed and vanished in the dark. "I saw you with a saucerbee jacket. Inside the place, I mean. The cabin. He gave that to you?"

"Sort of."

"That was mint of him."

"Sure was."

He summoned a diving shark in the air. "I've got one just like that, you know. I'm team captain for Poofypants. The school. It's all lime green, but it's got like, the dark sleeve cuffs. Yeah, it looks just like his, except mine's got a heart-shaped clasp instead of buttons to hold it shut. It's sort of like a cape that way. Kinda, y'know?"

"I've seen it." He wore it everywhere. "It looks great on you. Shows your muscles instead of your stomach tub."

"I guess."

Anti-Marigold shifted her wings against the shed. Bloody Darkness, her ankles were freezing. "You mentioned breaking up with Goldie."

"She said no…" Poof's voice turned distant. "So I'll stay."

He didn't elaborate on their relationship status. Or more importantly, what it meant for her and Anti-Poof. Well, there was more than one way to crack a coconut. Anti-Marigold forced a smile around her candy cane and even added a juvenile chuckle for effect. "Do you, y'know… like her and stuff?"

Poof chuckled too. His eyes were lazy, exhausted, and he turned his head towards her when he spoke again. "Mmhm… You know, they say fairies only give their souls away once… That's why our subspecies notches wings. It's permanent. We don't remarry if we separate, or one of us dies. We're not supposed to… We just don't."

"So you'll stay."

Nod.

"You tell her you wanted to break up?" Anti-Marigold pushed the toe of her boot against a particularly solid snowdrift. A thin layer on the top was fresh and slid off when she tried, but the rest had frozen into a solid chunk.

"While you were in the back getting untied with Hiccup."

She grimaced and pushed the candy cane deeper in her mouth with her little finger. Hiccup, curled up on the bathroom floor with his hands over his ears, while she sat, hunched over, on the edge of the tub with coils of rainbow string dangling from her fingers. The wobble in his voice shaking with the apple in his throat. Her fists blooming with tangled yarn as they frantically traced their respective karmic weaves back to the source. The electricity crackling in the air between them as they peeled their threads of fate apart while avoiding even cursory eye contact.

The colors of the thread that had stretched between their own chests. Breath yellow for him, Leaves green for her, tied together with passionate reds and distant grays and navy blues. The magical string twitching with instability, laden with knots on both sides of the link. Because he was Hiccup? Or because he was Foop?

"How'd the breaking up go?" she asked Poof. "Like, the part with the words. The talking part. What'd ya say ta get to that topic?"

Poof shrugged a third time. He scratched at his loose hair. It was shaggy, curly, and full of snowflakes, and Anti-Marigold realized then that this was the first time she'd ever seen it down from the usual low ponytail. "I dunno," he murmured. "I just got stressed and it came up in conversation, y'know? It sort of happened."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

Anti-Marigold fingered the hook of her cane. Then she popped it from her mouth and shoved it curve-first in a less solid snowdrift. The sharp point, its fruity colors washed into white, jabbed up like an icicle. "And it didn't work? Y'all are still together?"

"I guess."

"Well, thanks, Poof. For the candy. And the advice."

"Sure."

Anti-Marigold left him there, his brow furrowed and insomniac eyes combing the gray clouds like a pair of purple searchlights. On her way back to the cabin, she scooped up a handful of clean snow and shoved it in her mouth. It froze the insides of her cheeks. Stiff in places, packing together with her saliva. But, it washed the stinging taste of sugar off her tongue, to a degree. She swallowed.

She circled the porch and entered through the squealing front door this time, in case Wanda (still meticulously picking at the dishes by hand) got suspicious about her sneaking in through the back. The door had a screen. Why, on a frozen planet that never saw summer heat? Dunno.

They were supposed to play card games tonight. They'd agreed, and it sounded more relaxing than trying to perfect the same Tarrow steps over and over forever all night.

Goldie had wandered upstairs again. She no longer wore green, or even her typical striped gold and orange sweater and chocolate brown skirt. Her pajamas were dark blue, coated with swirls of purple and hundreds of white speckles meant to mimic stars, like they'd been painted by a few monkeys who had heard about the night sky maybe once, but had never actually seen it for themselves. Her hair, like Poof's, had been yanked down for the night. She sat on the glass coffee table with one hand to her forehead. Her phone balanced on her knee. A finger hovered over an unknown button.

She looked embarrassed, too. Why, when she Dame Popular, queen of every dance and girlfriend of Fairy World's favorite celebrity kid? Dunno. Anti-Marigold only shrugged at her and shook the snow out of pigtails. They were nice pigtails, thick and black. Most importantly, hanging low instead of pinned high, pulled back only lightly and tied with purple bands. They didn't look silly on her. She looked like she'd just pushed it from her face to keep it clean and out of her face. They didn't make her look too young. Not like a toddler. Old enough to recognize when she made stupid mistakes and old enough to be smart about fixing them too.

Anti-Marigold's eyes locked on the snake-like shape behind her. Her wings sprang out. The creature had been lying so still, she'd totally missed it while thinking about her pigtails, and Goldie's current lack thereof.

It was a… something. A centipede sort of being, as thick around as she was, and at least three times as long. He lounged before the fire, with his head held erect just right so his neck blended with the black stovepipe behind him that ran up to the roof… except for the fact that his entire body was striped lime green and white, like some kind of radioactive candy cane. The green parts of him even glowed under the dim lights. That was what threw her. When he'd scampered into the cabin earlier, he'd hustled straight for the bathroom without shedding his snow coat. Now, out here, he wore a sort of vest that offered sleeve holes for six of his arms. He was completely naked below his waist, (if you could even use the words 'naked' and 'waist' to describe his species). His antennae curled into spirals. Eyes? Dunno.

"Oh." Anti-Marigold's shoulders relaxed. "Jeeps, you scared the mint out of me, mate. I didn't see you there for a sec."

The centipede creature tilted his head. This involved tilting most of his neck. He folded two pairs of his forelegs together, resting them on the stone platform that bore the fireplace. The pincers that made up what appeared to be his mouth clicked together. "I apologize for sta'tling you so soon. I meant to make my g'eeting and lunge out to catch you off gua'd as you walked towa'ds the hallway."

"Er… right." Gathering her wings, squaring her shoulders, Anti-Marigold came forward and extended both hands, palms turned up like a dish. "You're Cosmo and Wanda's current godkid. Native Delkian, right? We haven't been introduced. My name is Anti-Marigold."

The boy studied her for another moment, then dipped his neck. "I am Jalla. You be 'elated to Poof's youthmate?"

He spoke awfully good Snobbish, even if it was with an accent that caused him to drop off all his 'r' sounds. Well, that wasn't surprising; the Snobulacs had done an excellent job of distributing the language throughout this quadrant of the known universe long before her ancestors were even born. Anti-Marigold shrugged. "Something like that. Me and Goldie are tight, mate. We're basically twinsies." She glanced at her counterpart as she said it. Goldie raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond. She'd let her shiny yellow hair down. Somehow, she looked younger that way. Maybe because she just seemed so sloppy. That, and the cute pajamas.

Jalla tipped his neck in the other direction. "Cosmo and Wanda have been with me two months now. In all that time, they have not mentioned you. I am unde' the imp'ession that you be the niece. P'haps you be adopted, as thy skin is violet."

"Technically my fur's blue, but I get that a lot. I'm a friend of the family." Anti-Marigold withdrew her hands, since Jalla didn't appear inclined to offer one of his legs for examining. She brushed a strip of hair behind her ear. "Speaking of families, is this your family's cabin? I noticed the Delkian toilet in the bathroom. And, well, we're on Delki, so that's a bit of a tip-off."

"Let's change the subject," Wanda interrupted from the kitchen, at the same time Jalla said simply, "I ate my parents."

"Ah. Good meal?"

"It was, thank you."

Anti-Marigold nodded. She placed her hands to her waist and glanced around the front room. "Did y'all already pick out some games? I was thinking we could play the pirate one, where you draw cards to build up your ship and then attack merchants and each other and collect gold coins and stuff. That one lasts a nice time."

A long tongue flashed out from… somewhere on Jalla's face. He swiped it over his pincers, then arched his back with a ripple that passed all the way down his hundred or so legs. "I p'efe'ence nothing. Wanda, I wish it, please."

Wanda paused. When Anti-Marigold glanced over, she watched the older woman unsheathe her wand in slow motion. Ooh, right. This far from the Big Wand, the energy field got pretty darn sparse. That couldn't be easy (or cheap) to work with. Nonetheless, Wanda was nothing if not a loyal godmother, and she twirled her wand as Jalla had requested. With a  _poof_  and cloud of dust, a black cardboard box appeared on the table behind Goldie.

"It's too long," the wisp interrupted without turning to look at it. "Let's play something shorter. It's getting late." She smoothed out a wrinkle in her shirt. "Anyway, Poof's not back from his walk yet."

Walk.

"So be," Jalla decided. I can wait." He brought his face to what appeared to be his haunches and began to lick his flank. Wanda shook her head in amusement and returned to the dishes.

Anti-Marigold eyed her carefully as she approached the last of the three pizza boxes Poof had brought in. It rested in front of a row of mugs and Mason jars on the counter to Wanda's left. There were these straw-like tubes called magic lines that connected a Fairy to the energy field, allowing them to breathe through any of their pores so long as their windpipe remained unobstructed. Fairies had those. Poof had those. If Poof had strolled in here right now, Wanda would have instantly been able to sense what he'd been doing out by the shed. His lines would be shaking, occasionally disconnecting from the energy field, drifting like aimless jellyfish tendrils, or curls of yarn, before snapping back into place.

That was tingle-fritziness. But as an anti-will o' the wisp, she herself breathed only the magic that Goldie had already absorbed and filtered for her. When Goldie breathed, so did Anti-Marigold, and so did Drake Marigold, whoever and wherever he was. Anti-Marigold had never met him personally, but sometimes, when the pumping of her core quickened in her head, she could tell that he was gasping. Probably, he'd been out running, or swimming. Why? Dunno. Since he and Anti-Marigold both drew from Goldie's supply, sometimes they engaged in mental tug o' wars when one of them started to get greedy. Anti-Marigold had picked up a habit of sharply tilting her fists up at the ceiling as though she'd just snapped her wand, in case he could see her somehow up there in the upper planes of existence. She'd done the same thing once or twice when she'd crossed paths with a greater bird-of-paradise. Those were his patron, after all. Had he ever spied on her through their bitty eyes? Dunno.

The three were synced up, but Goldie alone possessed their magic lines. Since Anti-Marigold didn't have any of her own, she couldn't be described as tingle-fritzy, so there was no way she should be able to guess what had happened behind the shed. Unless… Anti-Marigold slid her right hand into her hoodie pocket and clenched it lightly. Could Wanda taste the peppermint in the effervescence she emitted? Technically, Fairies had magical tasting powers, so could they do that? That seemed like cheating.

"Would you hand me that other rag on the hook behind you, Anti-Goldie?" Wanda asked without turning around. Again, this was annoying. Anti-Marigold had floated as silently as possible into the kitchen, keeping near the back wall that housed the microwave and shelves of paper and crayons, and still Wanda had no effort picking up on her.

"It's Anti-Marigold, actually." She shrugged and passed over the requested cloth. "My counterpart likes her nickname. I like our given one. It tells us apart and it's nice.''

"Anti-Marigold then," Wanda agreed. "Did you come to help me?"

"Nah, just to snack." Anti-Marigold picked up one of the last two slices of pineapple pizza in the open box. It was stiff and cold. Also, Cosmo had picked the pineapple off his own piece earlier and left them in a bowl on the counter to stew in their own juices. Anti-Marigold grabbed those too and leaned against the counter to watch Wanda work on a hot chocolate mug with her rag. The pizza was cold, but then again, she was an anti-will o' the wisp living paycheck to paycheck on a meager wage. She wasn't really the picky type.

"You know, I was young once," the fairy said, out of nowhere. Anti-Marigold stopped mid-chew and looked at her. Wanda continued to scrub as though nothing had happened.

"Wanda." Anti-Marigold leaned her hip against the counter and braced her elbow. "Can I hit you up about some girl stuff?"

Wanda glanced into the open living area, as though checking on Anti-Marigold's behalf to see if either Goldie or Jalla were eavesdropping. They were talking in low voices by the fire and made no sign that they had overheard. Honestly, Anti-Marigold didn't care if they did. She had nothing to hide.

"Right, so. Let's say you're a wisp, and y'all had a best friend who wasn't allowed to have a wisp for a girlfriend, but you made out with him anyway 'cuz, you know, it's whatever."

Wanda paused. There weren't a lot of dishes left in the sink. Actually, wasn't that the same mosaic-patterned mug she'd seen Wanda washing before she'd headed out to follow Poof behind the barn? Did she know he was out there? Was she stalling for him to come back in? After a few seconds of thought, Wanda lowered her head and went back to wiping the stain of hot chocolate from its insides with her cloth. "All right."

Anti-Marigold folded her arms, still clutching half her pizza slice in a hand soggy from pineapple chunks. Gritty crumbs clung to her clawless fingertips. "Then let's say that after that, this best friend would come up behind you and spin you around and surprise you with kisses sometimes, but you knew he wasn't s'posed to have a wisp girlfriend. And we're talking serious smooches, sheila. This best friend gives the best kisses."

"Okay. I'm following."

"Yeah, they're tight and cold like a trickling stream. Also you can sort of see his armpits when he's sweeping in for one of those kisses. It sounds dumb, but… He always throws his arms into the air when he's excited about something, and he does that when he kisses you, too, because that's how he feels about you. Arms up, behind your head. He doesn't kiss like his dad does in the photos and on TV, with the arms low, and I think that's a really important detail to add in, 'cuz like, Anti-Fairies are always born with set personality profiles, and they're always supposed to inherit a combination of their parents' physical traits too, see. Y'know, 'cuz of how karmic balances are passed down through families. Anyway, that's why this best friend was born with a limp in his wing even though there's nothing wrong with him. He inherited the limp and the accent from his dad, but not the way he kisses, see. That's all him. So- So-"

Anti-Marigold brought her hands, pizza and all, to her hair and clenched a pigtail in either fist. "So you know he really, really likes you enough to go out of his way and figure out how to be a good kisser, because Anti-Fairies don't  _do_  that. Anti-Fairies are traditional because they have to be. It's how they are, but your friend's  _not_. He's different, and before you were 150,000 you thought you loved him and you were gonna marry him, but let's say there's politics and rules, and he was confusing as sometimes about if you were his girlfriend or not or how much he likes you, and it's starting to get heaps serious, but he still won't just tell you if you're his girlfriend or try to break up with you, and his parents don't know about this, and they're trying to get him to like this other girl who isn't a wisp, and you hear about them in the news all the time, and when you're at the grocery store, they're on half the magazine covers, and when you go out to eat you can see them holding hands on the pizza parlor TV, and everyone always talks about how cute and perfect and karmaically balanced they are, and now it feels like you're cheating on her because this sort-of boyfriend still invites you to his castle for ceremonies and movie nights or he comes to see you sometimes when he can slip away, but it's not like he comes a lot, but he's always so confusing about if he likes you or if he likes her, and he's got another personality too so y'all don't even know how much you can trust the media, and everything just keeps getting really complicated, and he talks like he wants you but you're not really sure how much, or anything." She looked up. "What would y'all do?"

Wanda watched her in silence, studying her eyes. Anti-Marigold felt her cheeks cool with a soft flush. Maybe she'd said a little too much.

"How much do you know about the Fairywinkle family?" Wanda asked.

"Not like tons." Not much more than that being Wanda's family name.

Wanda puckered her lips. "Well. Dusty Fairywinkle was a drake born into a very particular lifestyle. He was expected to live a certain way and raise a certain kind of family. His parents even picked a wife out for him. She was young, shy, and didn't ask too many questions. Raised strictly Daoist, like him. It was all arranged, and everyone agreed."

"Except Dusty?"

She sighed. "He had a mistress."

Four words. Sharper from a Fairy tongue than an Anti-Fairy one. "Oh," Anti-Marigold said. She lowered her gaze, gripping her pizza crust in her fist. "I guess she was maybe, uh, a will o' the wisp?"

Wanda nodded slowly.

Anti-Marigold had always suspected that sort of heritage; Anti-Wanda, after all, had flat teeth like an anti-wisp instead of the usual bat-like fangs. Not to mention the small ears that left her struggling to echolocate, though with more ability to do so than Anti-Marigold herself had.

"And I guess there were nymphs? From the wisp mistress?"

Wanda's fingers tightened around her mug so her thumb squeaked along its wet surface. "Two damsels. Twins. Everyone just assumed they were his wife's, that it happened on the honeymoon. Including him. At first. The two girls were identical, pink-eyed and brown-haired, wings translucent like a dragonfly's. No one dared to question it, even though behind the scenes and in front of those girls, they were always saying, 'fairies only give their souls away once'. It wasn't right, a fairy who tried to do it twice."

"Oh yeah. You fairies don't really do that divorce thing."

"And the stealing, the life of crime, it all started so small," Wanda murmured, her expression growing distant. "A fairy with two identical daughters. The perfect disguise, as long as the public believed he only… had… one."

She had bowed her head so Anti-Marigold couldn't see her eyes behind her sweeping hair. But the set of her clenched teeth and the tears tracking down either side of her face declared her emotions as though she'd run them up a flagpole. Anti-Marigold scratched behind her neck.

"I didn't know all that." It was the only thing she could think to say, y'know, trying to be polite and not just ask, "So, what does any of this have to do with me and my problems?"

"And how much do you know about Ilisa Maddington?" Wanda asked, finally raising her head.

Anti-Marigold shrugged. "Anti-Ilisa is one of my ancestors. Obviously, first anti-wisp and all. Ilisa was supposed to be a fairy-brownie crossbreed, but something went wrong. Instead of dragonfly wings, she was born with scaly butterfly ones. It didn't make a lick a' sense, sheila. No one understood it. But her counterpart was born with six-spot burnet moth wings, and so it went."

"And her original nine children? Before the Eros Nest turned her into a…"

Good breeding, so to speak, prevented Wanda from saying 'nymph factory', but the implication remained.

"Eight drakes," Anti-Marigold recited. "Fennel, Kace, and Leander were the only three to carry her wings. Wisp wings are exceptions to the usual inheritance rules; it's a coin flip to see if the mother will pass them on. Ilisa's only daughter of that time, Lyrica Posy, got the wings too. I'm descended from Lyrica through her firstborn, Anti-Oka Anti-Posy."

"Fennel," Wanda said, pointing her thumb at her chest. She looked up towards the ceiling and sighed. "I just worry so much about Poof. It was before your time, but fairies used to be prevented from having nymphs. Now that the ban is lifted again, my baby can have his own family. If he chooses a will o' the wisp, then he chooses a will o' the wisp."

"Anti-wisps are built to be mamas," Anti-Marigold murmured. She pressed her hand against her abdomen. "We're meant to be taller than this. Y'know, than… than me. We've got four pouches. They're small, but it's kind of necessary. Since our counterparts like drakes so much, we gotta be able to be pregnant at any time. But I know better than to get attached. I mean." Here she looked up again. "Since wisp damsels kill their damsel nymphs who don't carry will o' the wisp wings, and all."

Wanda closed her eyes. "Well, yes. Let's see if I can remember my old schooling. Sometimes, wisp brains struggle to recognize their own nymphs if they don't look like them. They like the butterfly wings. If a nymph doesn't have the genes, they're a rival and are removed so they don't grow up to steal the drakes from the…"

She paused.

All of a sudden, in the front room, Goldie stood. "The word you're looking for is 'dotties'," she said crisply, and left down the stairs. Jalla twisted his upper body around to watch her go. A door shut softly in the basement. What an eavesdropper!

Even though the term 'butterfly daughters' was considered a purist slur and had faded out of use long before she was born, Anti-Marigold had to fight to suppress her shiver. Will o' the wisp  _drakes_  always produced nymphs with butterfly wings, the nymph's wings always the same color as their father's eyes, or at least for the most part. Certain Fairy subspecies were considered more desirable by wisps than others. But the underlying detail remained: High risk. High reward. For a wisp, the best case scenario was to produce a crossbred fairy drake nymph… with butterfly wings. By law, they were called will o' the wisps- graceful, beautiful, and intelligent instead of matching the stereotype of being inbred and stupid.  _Fill the population. Swell the ranks that the floods so rapidly depleted…_

Drakes who didn't carry the butterfly wings were favored too, simply for their intimate passion when compared to the dull wisp drake alternative. But Wanda was right. Wisp damsels killed their daughters who didn't carry the desired wings. It was in their nature. It was in their blood. Everyone said so. They even taught that kind of stuff in school. Anti-Marigold had dropped out hardly a dozen years into Spellementary, but even she knew that. Wisp damsels ruled their drake harems and desired their dotties to reproduce widely too. Non-dotties…

It was instinct. That's all. Or at least, Anti-Marigold told herself that, because she didn't dare think on the matter too hard or long.

Wanda picked up the last plate and dipped it beneath the bubbles. As she did, Anti-Marigold studied the dragonfly wings down her back. They were thicker than those of most fairies, the swirling patterns intricate and stunning.

"You're scared, sheila. But y'all decided to give my counterpart the chance with your son anyhow. Why, even when you know she might…?"

"Don't get me wrong. I was nervous about your counterpart at first, and I'm still a little nervous." Wanda sighed. "But, my Daddy didn't want me to marry Cosmo. Cosmo's mama didn't want him to marry me. And yet, we're happy. That's what I want for Poof. I don't want him to run off and elope like I did. I want to be there to support his family, and I want him to know that Cosmo and I will always love and do our best to support him, no matter what decisions he makes. Even if that includes falling in love with a will o' the wisp."

She paused from her scrubbing. For a moment, Wanda just stared through the window and through the falling snowflakes at the shed. Her knuckles tightened around the plate. "I do wish Poof hadn't fallen in love with her. But I would never want to tear your counterpart away from him. That's why I told you this." She glanced back. "Anti-Marigold, I like to think of myself as a bright and cheery fairy. I want to believe in true love, and that things will work out in the end. I always try to hold on, no matter how tough it gets or how much it hurts. In fact, that's my core trait."

 _"Oh."_ Anti-Marigold placed her fingertips to her forehead. "Wow. So you mean, that's your… that's your… Gee. Thanks for sharing that with me. I know it's extra personal in your Fairy culture, and it means a lot to hear it, y'know?"

Wanda nodded and finally set the plate in the drying rack. She reached down and yanked the plug from the sink. The bubbles began to drain away. "I think that if you're confused about where you stand with, uh, Anti-Poof, you should go and talk to him right now. It's getting late and it's a long flight to the nearest stable patch of the energy field, so he can't exactly run away from you." It was dark enough outside that when Wanda glanced up at the window, Anti-Marigold could see her pink eyes reflecting with a pale glow. "And, well… Anti-Wanda and I share the same core trait, remember. That's how it works. We both want what's best for you, without putting our worries in the way. If you ever wanted to talk to her about these things, I'm sure she'd understand."

Anti-Marigold drifted up behind the fairy, and untucked her hands from her sweatshirt pocket. She slid her arms around Wanda and gave her a brief hug. "Thanks, sheila. I think I'll see if I can take him out for a chat right now."

"Best of luck."

Cosmo jogged past her on his way up the stairs, pausing to size up the winged tiger on her hoodie in the process. "It's not mine," Anti-Marigold told him quickly, pressing herself against the wall so he could squeeze through (Curse the Delkian tendency for long, spiraled steps that were so close together, they were practically a ramp).

"I don't judge," he said with a pleasant shrug, and scooted by. One room in the basement had been stuffed full of cushions and bunk beds. Some kind of video game console was hooked into the small TV. The indents in the cheerful beanbags in front of it - not to mention the bags of corn chips and pretzels - confirmed that Cosmo had been down here for awhile and only just left. Probably, he'd gone to urge Jalla back to their racing game, which still displayed the victory banner for Player 2 across the lower half of the screen, along with a great deal of confetti and music. Either that, or Foop had snapped at him enough times to scare him off.

Foop himself had already laid claim to the bunk below what was obviously Poof's (purple circle pillows and all). He lay partly on the bed and partly on the floor, with his back on the ground and his feet kicked in the air. Well, that made sense; they'd both been oriented upright for hours today, and he was probably getting dizzy. He was still grading papers even so, scribbling in comments between  _tsk tsk_ s and nods of his head. His reading glasses balanced on his nose. The lenses were tinted violet. They reflected the pale light of the spiraled nightstand lamp in an odd way, sprinkling the floor with little rainbows in the dark. It took him a moment to notice her at the doorway, but when he did, he glanced up. His mustache twitched at the ends.

"I will admit, I expect to get a good nap tonight. It's pleasant to be allowed to sleep in a bed rather than be forced to dangle precariously from a roost. Don't you agree?"

"Yeesh. One of us actually has the ability to hang upside-down for hours on end, and he turns his little round nose up at it. Whatever are we gonna do with y'all, mate?"

He attempted a shrug and went back to his papers. "Support me and my politics, I imagine."

"Probably." She felt along the base of the wall lamp, searching for the switch. "Can we go talk about some stuff?"

"We can talk here," he said without looking up. He tapped his pen against his snaggletooth, then marked out an entire paragraph with dripping purple ink, and chuckled. "I'm listening."

No he wasn't. Anti-Marigold cleared her throat, which did actually flick his attention to her. "I'd rather we went somewhere private. No distractions. Can we go for a walk? Maybe outside?"

Foop blinked. His head tilted back against the floor as he looked her over again. Then his ears tried to go up. "Oh! Walking. You mean, through the forest. With all the trees." The reading glasses came off. He started to slide them into his back pocket, then changed his mind and tossed them on his pillow instead, along with his pen and papers. "Wow. Conifers will be an interesting choice, but, um, certainly. Lead the way."

In the ectothermic chamber at the cabin's rear, Anti-Marigold grabbed her water blue scarf from its hook and tossed him his red one, and his black coat. She'd knitted the scarves with bright, colorful yarn because she liked them that way, even though these kinds of things had to be done hush-hush. After all, she was born in the Year of Leaves, and if she were going to be wearing any color, it was supposed to be green, and only for fancy ceremony stuff. Sometimes she had enough of green, and red looked  _so_  good on him.

They left through the screen door, once again shouting back to Wanda that they were just going out for a bit. It had gotten darker out. The sky had clouded over, blocking out most of the stars and moons. They stood beneath a slanted overhang that sparkled with dozens of claw-like icicles. Could you get icicles on a planet that wasn't supposed to warm up enough for snow to turn to water and drip? Sure, why not? Anti-Marigold inhaled the falling snowflakes and wrapped her scarf tighter by yanking both ends. "I like the weather out here."

"It is nice," he agreed, stroking his mustache. "Though, frankly my preferences tend a little more towards lakes of fire and the tortured screams of acid victims."

"You charming old devil."

"I am one, aren't I?"

As they left the shelter of the cabin's overhang and started up the hill towards the nearest stretch of woods, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Hey, you're the science man. Where d'ya think the trees came from when this whole planet's supposed to be snowy all year round?"

"Hmm…" Foop studied the evergreens, but in the end simply shrugged and reached out to slide his arm behind her neck. "I'm not familiar with this type. We are on a different planet, after all. Things develop different ways of surviving up here compared with what you see on Earth or back home."

Anti-Marigold kicked a heap of powder with her boot as they walked, half surprised it hadn't turned out to be ice underneath. How thick was this stuff, and how did the Delkians ever stand it enough to live here full-time? She'd heard from Poof once that they hadn't been the planet's most dominant species until relatively recently. Technically, "Delkians" wasn't even their real species name, but Anti-Marigold didn't know what it was. The centipede people had simply grown powerful enough to challenge the previously dominant species and seize control of the planet, and since godparents were only supposed to be assigned to members of a planet's dominant species, here they were now.

There wasn't exactly a trodden path to follow, but they found a section of woods with wider spaces between the trees than most everywhere else. Anti-Marigold stared at the gray sky, fists in her pockets and tongue in her cheek. After several minutes, she became aware of the burning of Foop's eyes on the top of her head. She turned. Their gazes linked. He blinked at her, holding her in place, and then shifted his look above her head. "How about that one?" he asked, nodding towards a tree behind her with his chin. "Doesn't it look like that upper branch on the right would hold our weight while we, you know, go about it and all?"

"While we go about…" Anti-Marigold's eyes flew wide. She ducked away from the arm he'd placed around her shoulders. "Foop! We're not out here looking for a tree to  _make out in!"_

He arched both eyebrows. "Really? Then why did you haul me out here barefoot?"

The protests froze on her lips. Anti-Marigold slid her gaze down to the warm boots on her feet. Foop stared back at her, arms crossly folded. His coat's open halves fell to either side of him. Snowflakes caught in his mustache and the fur around his eyes. Ever since Poof had moulted into his adult wings and Foop had likewise gained his adult body, his pilot freckles had become such a bright purple, they practically glowed. With his cheeks turning pink from the cold, they showed up especially.

"I'm- sorry. I didn't think."

"You never think," he huffed.

"Yeah… That's why I wanna talk to you."

"Can we do it while we bundle? Seriously, I'm going to lose my tail if I stay out here too long." He looked at her expectantly, then fluffed up the fur around his neck. " _Brrr_. Either that, or we have to head back in. The shed we passed over there is an option, I suppose, if it really is important we keep our voices down and away from the nosy crowd."

"Uh…" Anti-Marigold glanced around. The woods were thin enough that they didn't keep off much of the snow. One of the nearest trees sprouted from a rock crag, clutching the pointed stone between its roots like an egg held above a mixing bowl. Despite the planet's constant cold, the spot was just sheltered enough from the winds that a patch of dirt had been left behind; the snow was deep everywhere else, but only to their knees somehow. It wasn't ideal, but at least they wouldn't be sitting in the snow itself. She motioned towards it with her wing. "There. We can bundle over there."

Foop watched her for an extra second too long. Anti-Marigold fully expected him to scoff and call her names for not retreating to the warmer cabin. But, obediently, he walked over and sat down with his back placed against the tall stone.

"Well, get over here, seriously."

Anti-Marigold did, adjusting her scarf. Foop held his arms open for an embrace. She settled on his lap, accepting the hug, and let him bring her head beneath his chin. Once she had, he wrapped both their bodies in his wings as much as possible. The bottoms scraped against her lower back. "Okay. So, what's so important to talk about that you didn't want to do it in the pleasant cabin?" He squinted. "And why do I smell candy canes?"

She winced. "Oh yeah. I was peppering with Poof for awhile out behind the shed."

Foop shook his head in apparent disbelief. His hands slid down her wings to rest against her lower back. "That stuff will give you cramps, you know."

"Fight me," she muttered, clutching her hands close to her chest.

"I'd rather talk." His mustache twitched up on one side. "Really, are you going to tell me what this is about, or not?"

Anti-Marigold stared at the freckles along his collar. Then she said, "Yeah. Here's the spill. Y'all always give me weird signals, about if we're a couple, or about how close we are, and that sort of quack. So, I want y'all to tell me straight." Anti-Marigold raised her eyes. "Do you love me?"

"Love you?" Foop said the phrase like he might have said,  _Curses, this bitter cold froze the ink in my pen again_. He scrunched up his nose. "Hmm…" His gaze wandered in a circle, then met hers again. Her ears quirked forward. Slowly, he leaned his head down, apparently waiting to see if she would close her eyes. Once she did, he pressed his lips between hers. His were dry and wrinkled. Were hers dry and wrinkled like that too?

She let him do his thing. They moved together a hint deeper, cold snow and cold mouths, until Anti-Marigold tasted a familiar combination of brass and strawberry ice cream on her tongue. After extending the kiss for another few seconds, Foop drew his lips back. His nose wrinkled.

"You taste like peppermint too. Ah. There. Now, does that answer your question?"

"It- No!" Anti-Marigold placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself away from him as far as she could manage, until he frowned and tightened his wings to keep her from jumping up. "I'm so confused. Foop, why are we doing this? Why is it y'all kiss and cuddle me like this? You're supposed to be courting Anti-Coriander."

"I  _am_  courting Anti-Coriander."

"Both of us?" She shook her head, bumping his chin in the process. Her fingers clenched in the front of his dark blue sweater vest. "Does it ever worry you? Do y'all ever wonder if we're all too young for this?"

Foop started to curl his lip, then loosened it so it turned into more of a pout. "I'm a Fairykind biologist. Poof came into his adult wings at 143,555. He's had his adult body ever since, and so have I. 6,500 years of hormones is a lot, and that isn't even including the nightmare of my juvenile years. You should be thanking me for restraining myself up until recently."

"But dating, courting, kissing, singing- this stuff is all heaps serious." Anti-Marigold cleared her throat. "Foop, that night we paired up… Y'all glanced over your shoulder at me on the couch and just casually dropped something like, 'We both know that sooner or later, our idiot counterparts are going to get us honey-locked,' and, 'It might be nice if our first time was something we both chose and wanted'. But what does it mean? Where do I stand with you?"

Pause. Anti-Marigold blinked snowflakes from her eyelashes. Foop didn't blink when he stared back.

"Well… I suppose it might be accurate to say that for the most part, I don't  _not_  like you…"

"But?"

He shifted her weight between his legs. "You're an anti-will o' the wisp. By matter of default, you're destined to be a harem girl. That's just what happens to you, what with your flirty counterparts and all- I mean, as Idona Ivorie's apprentice and the intended future wisp ambassador, Goldie's already got half a dozen drakes lined up for her, I'm sure. And you know the people won't want to accept a High Countess who can't even do something simple such as hanging upside-down."

"You don't hang upside-down," she pointed out.

Foop's eyes narrowed to violet slits. Briefly they flickered, and Anti-Marigold thought the light lingered too long for a moment, reflecting especially harshly off his pupils. Hiccup? But no. Foop's face smoothed out. He said, "I  _can_. I simply choose not to when I don't have to. It isn't safe to place ourselves in precarious locations when there are two of us in this body. All too easily, we could fall when we shift."

Traces of Hiccup flickered across his eyes again, to the point where he shook his head - hard - and clenched his fangs to hold him back. Anti-Marigold folded her arms as best as she could manage. "Y'all spent all those extra years in your exoskeleton, and your body's instincts got all tangled up. Y'all can't really hang better than I can."

"Ah, but I can still lock my feet in place and manage it for hours on end." His eyebrow went up. "I have fangs, I have claws, I have opposable toes, and I'm of noble blood. You're just an anti-wisp. Even if Goldie and Poof are together, and even if we honey-lock, even if my mother has dropped hints that she'd support it, you'll never be High Countess."

"But?" she urged again. She glanced down for a second to finger a loop in his sweater vest.

"But…" Foop tugged one end of his mustache. "No. It simply won't work. The people, you see, do not much like going against tradition."

The people. It was always "people" with nobles. Anti-Marigold frowned. She shifted in his lap, gripping his sides with her hands. Gently, she pressed her thumbs beneath his armpits. He resisted her for nearly eight seconds, his head tilted down, watching her in twitching silence, until he couldn't fight the urge any longer and squirmed his wings. Once she had him, Anti-Marigold leaned forward. "The people went against tradition when your papa overthrew the Anti-Coppertalon line. They went against tradition when he excused you from your Tarrow betrothal. They went against tradition for a lot of things he wanted. Why change for y'all, and not me?"

A bead of sweat or saliva formed on Foop's lower lip. He licked it away. "If- if the people reacted poorly to the news… See, sometimes the High Countess is targeted during times of war or threats of war because… When there's paperwork… If you were living in the Castle all the time… You and me…"

"Y'all are ashamed of being seen with me," she realized. Not that it was actually new, or a surprise, so the words felt dry as a cow pie on her tongue.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he corrected. But was it the right correction? He seemed like he was struggling to meet her eyes. If nothing else, that confirmed he wasn't Hiccup.

"You don't really care about me, mate." Anti-Marigold tried to lean away. His wings pulled her close again with a jerk.

"That's not true." Foop searched her face for the answer, then slumped his shoulders. His fingers tightened at her waist. "Why don't we meld for a moment? I'll show you exactly what you are to me."

Well. Why not? Anti-Marigold leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. She flexed her wrists. A cold glimmer spread behind her eyes and down to her feet, as though she'd eaten too much ice cream all too fast. Her vision blurred with writhing streaks of green, then took on color and form.

There she was, in his eyes, tucking stray black hairs behind her ear as she leaned over a scroll of notes he had just placed in her lap. Rather short and thin, quiet like a shadow, a tendency to be submissive at social gatherings. Typical of someone born in a Leaves year. She wore her black tank top with its dark purple straps against her pale blue-violet body, even though sweatshirts like Hiccup's made her feel so much more comfortable. But those earned her scathing looks. An anti-wisp in a hoodie? How cute, how pathetic, how laughable, to think that she could pretend to be something she wasn't. She didn't deserve it. Even among the Anti-Fairies, who claimed to be above and against the racism that ran rampant through Fairy society, everyone had their place.

No. The rest of Anti-Fairy culture, with its fine jackets, vests, and coats, wasn't meant to be hers. Wisps were promiscuous, so anti-wisps were baby-bearers and, all too frequently, single mothers of enormous broods. They couldn't echolocate, and they couldn't even hang upside-down for long. Their counterparts were considered beautiful temptresses, and anti-wisps were washed-up prostitutes and desperate strippers past their prime. No one wanted them for serious marriage, and had no choice when the honey-lock was in play. They should at least try to make themselves attractive. A bit of a shirt cut low here, a flash of tail there, and never sleeves on the arms if you didn't want to face the sneers and, in more than one historical case, actual aggression and the tearing of clothes.  _You can't be wearing that. You think you're better than the rest of us? Don't be such a special snowflake. It's your fate, it's decided, just accept your destiny, this is Tarrow's chosen path for your kind, that's why your counterparts were given their seductive instincts._  So on and so forth.

Foop didn't see her like that.

In Foop's mind, she was a dark leaf clinging to a twig in a storm. Winds howled and rain beat, but she stood like a lighthouse anyway. True, she dressed less modestly than her natural inclination to, with her love of fuzzy sweaters and soft hats, and a borrowed saucerbee jacket here and there. She let herself get pushed around at times, bowing her head and going along with the insistence of the crowd just to avoid the discourse. She was a very timid lighthouse.

But today she wore Hiccup's sweatshirt, and Foop thought it fit her so well. He didn't just love the shape of it on her figure, the way it curved over her waist, though it would be a lie, Anti-Marigold realized with a sigh of amusement, to argue that he hadn't noticed. But Foop's attention was higher up her body too, lingering on her face. Because he had noticed the way she walked, more comfortable in this than in the usual clothes she wore beyond her apartment door. Up here on Delki with no other Anti-Fairies around, there was no one to judge the way she wanted to dress, no one to protest she wasn't conforming to the stereotypes that meant everything in Anti-Fairy culture, and especially for someone of the submissive Leaves year on the zodiac. Up here she stood with confidence, her head held high and a constant beam lighting up her countenance. It turned his head and made his stare linger. When she was relaxed and happy instead of uncertain and cringing, that's when he was attracted to her most.

She knew what it felt like to be in Foop's head and smile when she saw herself float into the Poofypants cafeteria, a visitor's badge on her shirt and a paper bag of greasy fast food in her fist. She knew the brush of her fingertips against the soft part of his palm when their hands slipped together, almost accidentally, as they floated around the grocery store. She knew their first kiss, the small edge of his hand brushing against the apple of her cheek. They'd still been young juveniles, innocently experimenting with their sloppy mouths in the cupboard below Denzel Crocker's kitchen sink- the kooky man, oblivious, continued stringing up the Valentine's Day decorations in preparation for the trap he planned to spring on Cupid. Yes, she knew some things, some glimpses, but not the whole story.

And not enough. Nevertheless, the meld faded in a swirl of green smoke. Foop opened his eyes.

"That's me. All cards on the table." He stared at her, a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

Anti-Marigold bowed her head. "Foop, when we melded… y'all left out the memories of what it felt like… when we paired. What did that mean to you?"

He frowned, but didn't protest as she brought her forehead back to his. Another swirl of green crossed her vision. That night, the den, the TV, from a different point of view. The two of them clumsy in their pajamas and smirking as they tried to settle their wings. "Sorcery Hall" played in the background, though her own upside-down head - viewed through Foop's eyes - blocked most of the screen. There had been so many awkward kisses, their right hands clasped together almost the whole time, like you do.

And there it was. His hands were suddenly lower on her back as he waited for a signal that he was permitted to remove a bit of clothing now. She'd simply reached for her nickel wand and  _poof_ ed all his own clothes away. After all, it was her first time; they were kind of in a rush, both nervously aware that within the hour, Foop would be expected up the hall for dinner, and someone would be making the rounds to find their prince if he didn't show.

 _I'm doing this,_  Foop's memories all seemed to crow. _This is happening. It's Kelsia. Let's hope I do this right._  Jumbled stuff like that. Nothing especially meaningful, especially emotional. Nothing especially about her. Just that she'd delighted him enough to proceed the way he wanted to. Anti-Marigold pulled their forehead apart and sighed.

Foop cleared his throat. He reached one hand up to smooth his curls. "Yes, well. That was how it went. I like you as a girlfriend, Anti-Marigold. Just not as a wife."

"What does that even mean?" she muttered.

He shrugged, stroking his thumb along her shoulder. "You know everyone wants me to end up with Anti-Coriander. I'm a budding Breath year scientist, she's a Leaves year doctor in training. We're archetypes of the opposite zodiac's nature spirit. Winni, the Breath medicine man. Thurmondo, the Leaves inventor. By that logic, Anti-Coriander and I are the perfect balance. The karma that comes out of that union would be amazing. It just doesn't make sense to court you seriously. You can be my girlfriend, but not my High Countess. That's just the way it is."

"If that's all it meant, then y'all can't keep leading me on like this. It's not fair."

Foop's mustache twitched hard in time with an apparent mental snap. "No one expects Hiccup to woo Anti-Coriander if he doesn't want to. Why should I be left with that obligation? Why shouldn't I have you?"

"Because it's not fair." Anti-Marigold clenched her fists against her eyes. "You're supposed to court Anti-Coriander, you're supposed to marry Anti-Coriander, you're supposed to be High Count with Anti-Coriander as your High Countess. You'll be busy leading the Anti-Fairies. You aren't going to have any time left for me, except when we honey-lock. Because we will someday. I guarantee it." She raised her head. "Foop, I can't keep kissing you if y'all don't care about me. I paired that night, because… it was supposed to really mean something special. I mean, I liked it okay, I guess, but I wasn't really ready for that kind of stuff, and I don't really get what the big deal about touching like that is anyway. But I did it, for  _y'all_."

He drummed his claws against her hips, frowning. Then he sighed through his nostrils in a puff of white. "Would it make you happy if I act more affectionately towards you?"

Anti-Marigold recoiled. "What? Crikey, mate, are y'all only asking that because y'all wanna keep me around to hang off your arm and kiss your slobbery mouth every time you're in the mood for it?"

Foop blinked in a distracted sort of way. He flicked both his ears down, concentrated for a second as though fighting to keep Hiccup restrained, and then pricked his ears up again. "It was nice of you to agree to come all the way out here to Delki with me. That agreeable behavior should be reinforced. However you want it reinforced, you need only to ask. I'm a prince, and soon to be ruler of the universe, you know. Tell me what you want, and consider it done."

She knew he meant it. Foop was a lot of things, but he wasn't much a secret keeper and he wasn't much a liar. Two traits that against all odds, he actually did have in common with his fairy counterpart. He waited, perhaps slightly uneasy, holding her with both his arms and his wings. With a soft scuff, he pulled his knees in a bit, and held her in place that way too.

"You're stalling," he noted.

"I can't really think of anything I want…"

His claws clenched in her back, and a sneer took form on his face. Foop flicked a bit of snow from his ear. "Don't play these games, Kelsia. Everyone wants something."

She squirmed. "I mean, I like y'all, I guess… I like hanging out. I kinda just wanna keep being your friend. When y'all move on to Anti-Coriander for reals and take your daddy's place, I don't wanna get shoved to the side and forgotten except for when the honey-lock kicks in."

"So what do you want?" Foop urged, sitting up straighter. "Is it money? Power? I can pay you any price you ask, but you have to realize I can't just give you the High Countess seat. Tell me, what makes you tick, Anti-Marigold?"

He studied her, the way he'd studied all those Fairykind he'd tried to dissect in the past. The leprechaun, the nix, that pixie…

Anti-Marigold decided to answer him plainly, unemotionally, and looking him dead on. "I need a pleasant place to stay. I want somewhere nice. A cottage, something. Not another apartment complex. Maybe not heaps far from your Castle if y'all really think we'll be honey-locking much. And when there's a pup someday - if there's a pup someday - I want y'all to visit even when we ain't locked." She hadn't meant to cry, but those words rasped in her throat. "Y'all are my best friend, ya both. Sure, the Hiccup bit of y'all is neat and nice, but you, Foop… Gods, your brains are brilliant as. I love listening to the chatter going on up in there. Can't we still be friends? Don't let us ever be strangers. That's all I ask."

Foop considered this as he stroked his goatee. "That will add up to a lot of time and resources to spend on a mere friend."

Anti-Marigold steadied her thoughts. "Well? You don't intend to make me your wife, even if our counterparts are together. I mean, I know the Countess doesn't always have to be married to the Count, but if y'all are so sure the people won't accept me, maybe we…"

He laughed. He threw his head back and laughed at her, while she gaped open-mouthed in his lap. His fingers pinched deeper into her waist, through her hoodie and shirt until they pricked her thin fur. "Anti-Marigold, the thought! The High Count, with an anti-wisp for a wife! Haven't we been over this enough?" Foop brought his attention back down to her, and leaned his head close with a smirk. "It. Will. Never. Happen."

Anti-Marigold held his gaze as their foreheads pressed together, until she finally had to drop her eyes back to the collar of his shirt. She leaned against his shoulder. He was warmer than she was, his fur pale blue and his coat unzipped enough that she could wiggle her hands between it and his body. She said, "So you do intend to marry Anti-Coriander one of these days, then."

Foop shrugged. "I haven't thought it out in full quite yet. True, everyone expects it of me, and my father will flip if he ever finds out an anti-wisp and I, well,  _did it_  unlocked, but my marriage partner still is and always will be my choice. I have time to think it over. There's always a chance Poof and Goldie will still break up. In which case, my High Countess might be whomever he picks up next. If not, I'll have to do some looking for a good wife on my own."

The bitter words sprang- "An Anti-Fairy wife, or a Seelie one?"

He jerked back his head, ears flying up. "Are you actually suggesting now that I'm into  _Fairies?_  I'll have you know, Kelsia, I certainly feel-"

"You're still attracted to Goldie," Anti-Marigold pointed out, lifting her head from his shoulder. "You like her. Not me."

"That's different," Foop protested. A deep, twanging chord snuck into his voice. He pulled his knees (and her) in closer, bumping their noses in the process. "Anti-Marigold, I'm not, as you would say, 'in love' with Goldie. Simply, Goldie is a delicate, flighty thing, and I long to see her brought under my control." He clenched his fists. "I just… think it would be interesting, that's all. You know, if she ever kissed me the way she kisses Poof. Just once. Goldie is, well, a fascinating subject I'm forbidden to have. Naturally, I'm curious to know what she's like, how she compares to you. Such a shame I never made another move on her before we got our adult bodies and the actual realities of Rhoswen syndrome became an honest risk. I really should have taken advantage of her, but… Well. Everyone has felt the desire to get with their partner's counterpart at some point; it's just a natural part of Fairykind attraction."

"Not for me!" Anti-Marigold almost threw up in his face then and there.  _Poof?_  The sweaty saucerbee player, the holier-than-thou vegan, the peppermint addict? How would that even… Where would they… She couldn't even form a picture of the scene in her head. What, so like… Poof, naked and freckled and sweaty, probably high on Smile Dip, his eyes accented with circles of insomnia, leaning over her with his curly purple chest hairs dangling in front of her eyelashes? She thin and exposed on some bed in the Poofypants dorms, acting flirty in the face of his smirks and for some reason supposed to enjoy this? But Anti-Fairies had to be upside… but Fairy parts were… How did… Yeeeahhh. She let the thought drop.

"It doesn't matter," Foop decided. "My thoughts for Goldie are entirely hypothetical. Even I know it would never work. Thus, it would be a waste of time and energy to pursue her." He gave a nonchalant shrug and glanced away, as though to suggest he was above mortal matters like having crushes, but that if Goldie wished to approach him, she knew where he could be found and he would not refuse her advances.

Anti-Marigold nodded wearily. "Well. Even if y'all did win her over, I don't think the people will ever accept a Seelie Courter for a High Countess. Especially a wisp. I mean, yeah. Duh. So if not me, and not Goldie, then you'll have to find some other damsel eventually. Anti-Coriander, right?"

"Technically, the High Countess can be male," Foop let go of her wings and raised his hands, even though his arms were still looped around her. Bringing them both behind her shoulder, he leaned forward and blew on them before he rubbed them briskly together. " _Brrr_. It's a feminine title by tradition, but I looked it up in the old Traditions and Customs book once when Father made me copy out notes for one of my punishments. A male High Countess hasn't happened for a long time, but it's completely acceptable. Hiccup may be…"

He paused, studying the pink and blue tiger on the front of her purple sweatshirt with its one bat wing and one insect wing. But, he avoided using the word "exclosexual" to imply attraction both within the Unseelie Court and across Court boundaries, or even falling back on "bisexual" to explain his alternate personality's blatant fondness for boys as well as girls. Instead, Foop cleared his throat. "Um. Well, Hiccup does prefer drakes to damsels. Perhaps we'll find ourselves a husband instead."

"Do y'all want a husband? Not Hiccup, but you too?"

Foop leaned back his head. "I don't really know."

"So you wanna be single," Anti-Marigold summed up. She pushed one of her pigtails over her shoulder, and almost laughed. But not tonight. Anti-Marigold contented herself with a simple smile. "See? That's perfect. We can still be friends. And your High Countess won't even have a right to get in our way and be jealous of us, if she's not intimate with y'all any more than I am-"

"I don't want to be single," Foop interrupted. "Not really. It's just that I'm not looking forward to the intimacies of marriage. I like casual. I like this." He glanced down at her again, fluttering flakes from the long lashes he'd never quite grown out of. His wings tightened again, covering the area from her shoulders almost to her waist. "Kelsia, when I asked you that night if you wanted to start kissing and just see where things go… and you said sure, as long as we kept the TV on because you were still kind of watching it, and it was almost out of nowhere, and we were both good friends without expecting too much of one another… I really liked that."

This time, instead of laughing, Anti-Marigold had to tighten her teeth to hold back the sob. Her hands clenched beneath his arms. "Foop, I get that! Let's be friends. Pairing together- that was  _huge_. Let's pull back from that and forget it ever happened. We can be best friends. You can scry me anytime you're feeling soppy. Maybe sometimes I'll swing by with a plate of waffles, just real short notice. We can invite each other out to lunch, and snuggle when we watch movies together, and I'll come over to hang out, and it doesn't have to mean anything more than friendship. It's perfect! No one said the High Count can't just be  _friends_ with an anti-will o' the wisp. I'll…" Anti-Marigold trailed off, watching his hard violet stare. "I'll even let y'all kiss me sometimes, if ya still want to, but…"

Foop tongued his fangs. He considered her again, never avoiding her gaze, never trying to seek it out. He simply looked her up and down.

Then he sighed.

"Kelsia, we  _did_ it. Together. You and me. We know each other differently than we used to, and we can't take that back. So, we can't be  _just_  friends. You melded with me just a minute ago. You know exactly how I feel about you. I like you in a special way."

"In that y'all don't really like me, but just want to keep me around because you're hormonal and I'm available."

Foop shook his head. " _No_. That would imply you could be just anyone, but you couldn't be. I admire you, for you. I just don't know if I, you know, love you yet."

"See? Crikey, this is why we gotta talk about this stuff." She placed her hands to his shoulders. "Do y'all like me, or don't ya?"

His eyes flickered briefly again, but still not to the point where he shifted into Hiccup. Foop brought one hand up to his head and pulled at the larger of his two great black curls. "Kelsia, I'm trying to look at this from a practical standpoint. We  _did_  it. We actually… You know what I mean."

"Blitzed. You can say 'blitz'."

Foop made a face. "Well, sooner or later, our counterparts will do it too. Then we'll honey-lock, and that will be me, you…  _unclothed_ … So you see, I really don't want us to separate. I simply…" He tugged his curl again. "Anti-Marigold, you're dear to me. I  _want_  to love you. However, I don't think I do. Not yet. I need more time to figure it out, but I ask that you don't just leave me. I don't want things to be awkward between us when inevitably we meet again."

Silence.

"Well. It's awkward between us now. You not really liking me and stuff."

Foop stared at her a moment, his head cocked. Then he swept forward, his eyes zeroing in on her mouth.

"What are you doing?" Anti-Marigold protested, leaning as far away as his wings allowed her to. She blocked him with her arms. "First y'all tell me you don't love me, now you're trying to kiss me?"

"I like…" Foop pulled back, scowling, and made swirly bouncing gestures with both hands. " _This_. See, this is what I'm trying to explain. I  _do_  like you, Anti-Marigold. A lot, in fact."

She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You like the part of me that paired with you."

He cringed. The thumbclaw on one of his wings caught in her scarf, and she reached back to disentangle it as he pressed, "Kelsia, don't make it sound like a- like a  _wife_ is all you are to me. You're  _more_  to me than just someone to woo and breed with! Your personality is fascinating. Your interests are entertaining. You're witty and wild, and rather clever even though you aren't anywhere near as intelligent as I am. I don't… I don't stop liking you when we stop, um, singing together. I like all of you."

Anti-Marigold slit her eyes. "Even the part that used to copy off your homework back in Spellementary?"

A wistful smile traced across his lips. "Oh, every now and again. Your dirty cheating and careless determination are very attractive."

"What about the part of me that knits y'all dumb scarves and hats every year for Christmas?"

"I like that part too. You know, you've never forgotten to sew me something or other even once since we were two thousand."

"What about the awkward part that sneaks around the sidelines at parties sucking on melon chunks and picking the crusts off the little finger sandwiches?"

"That one too."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You like all those parts of me, but you still only care about my body. Right?"

Foop pushed his claws through his hair again. "See, there you go again, turning this against me. I like you  _fine_ , Kelsia. I simply mean that you're my friend. I don't know yet if I'm in  _love_ with you, but whenever we kiss, that's something special to me. And when I lit your eyes…" He settled his gaze on hers again. He squeezed her with his knees and wings. "That meant everything, you know. That it was you."

Anti-Marigold tried to press down her flushing. With all the snow falling around their little niche, and the wind blowing at their faces, maybe he'd think it was just her outsides getting cold.

"You're my dearest friend," Foop went on, reaching out to hold her hand against her knee. His claws tightened. "I gave that part of myself to you. That's special. You're special. We can't pretend that didn't happen… But we can't really pretend that you have a chance of being High Countess, either. It wouldn't work. People would mock us, maybe try to overthrow me. It wouldn't be safe for either of us."

She sighed. "Okay, but again, it sounds to me like y'all only like me when we sing together."

He winced again at the accusation and shook his head. "It's just  _complicated_. I don't know if I want you  _enough_. You're asking me to entertain you on a constant basis, and I don't have the ability to do that. I- I can't live in the same Castle as you! Every time our paths crossed in public, we'd just remember that this isn't all of us, that- that we act intimate and foolish like slobbering cherubs behind closed doors." His wings started to slip. Foop covered his face with his hands. "We can't just mate  _and_  live together. It would be far too weird. It's disgusting."

Anti-Marigold blinked. "I'm disgusting?"

"No! But… It's like this." He peeked out from between his fingers, wings agitated and rustling against her back again. "Anti-Marigold, you're an enjoyable friend, but I don't want the burden of always sending you Christmas cards, or picking you out Valentines chocolates, or the obligation of spending every holiday or spare moment with you  _all the time_. Entertaining you is exhausting. I need personal space!"

She closed her eyes.

"I don't want us to engage in those cutesy romantic things," Foop pressed, his words quickening as he recognized she was mentally pulling away. "Our relationship is fine just the way it is, Kelsia, see? And trying to act so affectionate will only make it weird. I like our friendship like this, how we were just friends who had fun singing together one time. All right, yes. I did love that. It was incredible. I've never felt that way before, like I did with you, and I want to do that again someday. Some future day when we honey-lock, unless you decide to offer me that part of yourself up again sooner. I don't want to lose your kisses. You do realize that you give seriously the most  _incredible_  kisses, don't you?"

"I guess…"

Foop brought his hand to the back of her head. She stared at him, blank, until his face relaxed. "I don't want our relationship to ever be about guessing, or jealousy between you and my future High Countess," he whispered. "I like the kind of friendship we've had since we were both square blue babies. Or, well, a square purple-blue baby in your case. I like talking to you. I like your honesty. I like your gentle savagery. You're interesting, and fun. I just always want things to stay… like…  _this_."

He sat forward again, this time grabbing her face in both his cold hands. He did not force her, but waited several seconds to allow her the chance to struggle or protest. When she didn't, he lifted her mouth against his. His saliva was warm despite the snow, his lips gentle even when chapped from the cold. He was always so careful with his fangs, so shy about getting them in the way. Ever since their first time, she'd always known him to kiss more with the front of his mouth than the sides because of that- one thing that told him so obviously apart from Hiccup, though she'd never said so.

Thank the stars he wasn't Hiccup. Hiccup's kisses were forward and forceful, bubbly and playful. Foop was a planner, a thinker, an artist. He took his time, gently guiding but never seizing forceful control, and always stroking her skin with his thumb. Today it was her cheek, but sometimes, when they held hands, it would be her knuckles. It was the same gesture he made when he held his wand or pencil as he thought, leaning over a desk full of calculations, observations, and crazy schemes. It was the unconscious movement he made only for something he felt so dedicated to and passionate about.

It was Hiccup who verbally whined when she pulled away too soon, and Foop who would stick out the pouting lip followed by a wistful chuckle. Hiccup who would protest and complain, Foop who would appreciate a challenge and attempt to woo her back. The night they'd paired, she'd been watching him the whole time, feeling his kisses and his movements against hers. Hiccup would want a turn. Of course Hiccup would want a turn… but Hiccup never came out to try and take a turn. Foop stayed. He stayed for her.

Whenever someone accidentally found out about her relationship with the heir to the High Count seat, well, first they were disgusted - or at least annoyed - that their prince would waste his time on an anti-will o' the wisp. Especially in recent years, when Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda had started to publicly favor Anti-Coriander and all her stuffy niceties. And the stuffing in the back of her underwear too- no  _way_  was that her real tail bulging beneath her too-thin scrubs.

But when people got over the fact that she was sort of with the heir presumptive of the Anti-Fairies, they always wanted to hear about his personalities.  _So like, are they both courting you? Do they get jealous of each other and wrestle for you too? How romantic! Do they ever switch mid-kiss? Oh my gods, I'd love to know what that feels like. Do they kiss differently? So basically you get to have the benefits of two boyfriends without any of the drawbacks. You're so lucky, Anti-Marigold, you have to tell us what it's like…_ Oh, once or twice, Foop had gotten impatient and shoved Hiccup to the background. But  _Foop_. Foop always stayed out for her, no matter how much Hiccup complained.

He still tasted like pineapple pizza from earlier.

Anti-Marigold reached up to touch his face too. His fingers tightened against her cheeks. She traced his mustache with her thumb, then let her hand float up to stroke his ear. They were huge bat-like ears, not the simple elfish ones that adorned her face, unable to twitch and echolocate like a "real" Anti-Fairy's. He didn't flinch at her touch, and Anti-Marigold finally closed her eyes to keep the snowflakes out.

Foop disconnected their mouths a long moment later and brought his hands from her face to her shoulders. "That's my reinforcer," he said simply. "I don't want money. I have plenty enough of that without dep _rrr_ iving you of that pitiful paycheck you get from the sandwich shop in Little Olympus. I want power, but barring any unforeseen circumstances, I'm next in line to be High Count anyway. The seat always goes to the firstborn iris unless he either has a pup first, or really screws up total big time."

He brushed his claws against her hair. His eyes rolled up to the drooping snowy tree and jutting stone hanging like a cliff above their heads. "You're my reinforcer, Kelsia. You're my only reinforcer. I have my scientific discoveries, but those are coming along. Someday I'll inherit the position of High Count from my father. I'm already on the way to meeting all my long-term goals. Soon I'll have everything I want. Everything except the accursed desires of this stupid hormonal body."

"You have Anti-Coriander," she murmured, distant and dull. She gripped her upper arms and shivered her wings.

Foop shrugged. "Anti-Coriander's a doctor. I'm a biologist. Every time our parents push us together so we can chat out on the balconies, or so we can practice our Tarrow dance, we discuss matters of science. I do like those conversations. They're really quite stimulating, but I don't like her the way I like you. I enjoy the way she talks, but I'm afraid there's no intimacy there. And I don't expect there to be much of it if she and I ever were to, ah… sing together." He tugged his collar. The purple came back into his cheeks. "Oh, gods. Can you imagine what people would think of me if I decided to be intimate with my High Countess someday? That can't possibly be legal. That's something my parents did, because they're… Well, they're them. But it does seem as though it would violate several codes of ethics, you know what I mean?"

Anti-Marigold tried not to think about it. She'd merely observed Anti-Coriander from a distance, never spoken to her directly. Sure, pairing with Foop hadn't been the biggest thrill of her life, but imagining Anti-Coriander taking her place…

"My relationship with Anti-Coriander is logical, it's technical," Foop went on. "It's expectations, immediate understanding, perfect synchronization, no surprises… and when I'm with her, I really miss your surprises. Anti-Coriander is an encompassing mathematical formula. It's… it's… You just plug in the data, and you get a response out of her, and it's always easy. But Kelsia,  _you_  bring something new every day. You're an equation that actually needs to be solved. A new equation, a new situation, a new reaction, every day. You're algebra."

His eyes softened. He brushed aside her dark hair and kissed her forehead this time. "We've gone round and round with all this talk. Have I finally made myself clear? I like you in a certain, special way. Let's just say I 'sort of' love you."

"But…" And she almost started to cry again. Anti-Marigold leaned her forehead against his neck. "Nebula, ya can't just cherrypick. Y'all can't have  _her_  company and conversation up there in the Castle, and  _my_ kisses and body whenever y'all come out to visit the slummy outskirts. Ya don't just get two damsels. You've gotta choose only one."

Maybe that was selfish. After all, she had Foop. She had Hiccup.

"I can have two girlfriends." Foop said it so matter-of-factly, apparently oblivious to the way the word 'girlfriend' froze the magic in her blood like the frost crystals on his mustache. He leaned back against the jutting rock, pulling her forward by lifting his knees again. "I'm the future High Count, and future ruler of the universe. I  _make_  the rules. Ask me for anything. What exactly was it you wanted, again?"

The word had become something guilty now, but she repeated it anyway. "Y'all's resources. I need your money. I need y'all's time. If we ever have a pup, I need y'all's support. I'm not asking y'all abandon your projects to dote on me, but I do need y'all coming by at least every once in awhile. I need y'all's  _attention_. Foop, while you've been away in the school dorms, I've been living all by myself in a dinky little apartment just inside Fairy World's Plane 9 border. I'm a greedy pig. My counterpart lives in a simple burrow underground when she's at home, but I gotta have something flashy. I want grand. Not your dreary castle with your stuffy clothes and boring feasts and judgy gargoyles and statues of past High Cs and Cs. I want happy, colorful, partying."

"Colorful?" Foop wrinkled his nose. Then he shrugged his wings. His thumbclaw caught behind her blue scarf again. "No accounting for tastes."

Anti-Marigold lifted her head and stuck out her tongue. "I'm a wildcard teenager and I like to get my freak on. Nip me."

"Then you'll get a grand manor house," he murmured, reaching for her lips again with his. They folded over hers like a tourism pamphlet, and stayed in front of her face just as briefly. Foop drew back, tipping his head. "Very well. While everyone else is out on migration, let's look around together and find somewhere you like. I'm sure I can afford it. If you would be willing to become my, ah…"

"Mistress."

"… That. And not expect too much of me while I'm busy at the Castle, then it's yours. Yours, and that of any drake you choose to share it with. After all, you are an anti-will o' the wisp, so I'm not expecting total loyalty to me alone. Yours to keep or share as you so choose."

She didn't like the way he let that hang in the air between them as they kissed. He did not say he would cut her off from all future child support and present-day friendly kindness were she to leave him. He did not say he would revoke his offer if they somehow took things up another step and their emotional rather than their physical intimacy deepened. The mystery was there, haunting her like a limp ghost decoration hung from a tree in the front yard on Halloween.

They broke apart again, this time more abruptly. "Hey," she said, wiping her lips on the back of her wrist. "Let's get something straight. I have a rule. Let's say I do agree to be your friend with benefits, or your mistress, or whatever you call it. If you're not in love with me, I don't want you using my private name. We're over 150,000. Call me Anti-Marigold. Even when we're alone."

"I love you." He sounded unsure. "I just love you in a way that's… different. I love you in… some way I can't find good research about. I don't know what this type of affection is called, but it's real to me."

She shook her head, maybe in mocking, and maybe in admiration. Maybe mock admiration. Why? Dunno. "Look, we both want the same thing. We like our friendship. Let's never forget that. You're my best friend, Nebs."

"With benefits?"

"Everything about you is a benefit."

Foop smirked. His claws caught in the back of her snowy hair. "You're reaching."

"Am not," she argued as her hands dropped down to his waist.

"Mm…" His eyes followed her movement. He tightened his wings against a sweeping gust of wind. "I'm glad you danced with me today."

At that, Anti-Marigold almost snorted in his face. "You owe me. Y'all know I-"

"-hate dancing. Yes, I recall." His eyes trailed along her cheek, moving lower towards her neck in a way that quickened her blood. "I'm truly apologetic, Kelsia, but you do it so nicely."

He placed a hinting kiss on her jaw. She chuckled and eased his head away by pushing at his shoulders. As his wings slipped down her back, she started to stand. "Okay, okay, I get it, mate. Y'all like me. Easy there. I like y'all too, but I want to stop. I'm tired, it's cold, and I wanna get to bed." He stuck out the pouting lip, and she raised her eyebrows. "Consider it a promise that ya'll'll get a next time."

Foop rose to meet her, catching her by the wrists and tightening his fingers. "Wait."

For what?

He drew in a breath of the cold Delkian air around them. "We've, um, shared deep kisses for centuries. Don't think I don't love it, but… This was a big, long talk we just had, Kel- Anti-Marigold. Maybe it should end with a special kind of kiss?"

His eyes went to her neck, then back to her face again. Anti-Marigold could still feel the mark where Hiccup had bitten her in the bathroom, suddenly sharp and stinging now.

"What exactly are y'all saying?"

Foop coughed in the back of his throat. "Kel- Anti-Marigold, I mean. You saw my karmic weave today when you and Hiccup were untying your destiny threads. You let Hiccup nip your karmic pouch, but I didn't get to enjoy it. Surely that's not the note you want to end on?"

Anti-Marigold puffed out her cheeks. She turned her head away. "You don't want to see my weave… It's just a bunch of magical glowy strings. It's not that interesting."

"Just one little nip," he murmured, bringing his mouth towards her neck. She turned quickly to catch his lips in hers, which made his eyes fly wide open in pleasant surprise. His two jutting fangs pressed carefully into the corners of her mouth.

"You're a hormonal little leopard," Anti-Marigold told him when they came apart again.

"For scientific curiosity," he insisted, tipping up his chin. "I haven't seen your weave before. Here we are, alone and confessing our deepest forms of raw passion through our words. I'm not aroused enough to make my fangs retract. If you don't want me to nip your neck, you'll have to try harder to get them to fold back."

"Nebula!" The snort escaped her this time. She pushed him back with a hand on her chest and leaned over to sputter and smirk at the snow where they'd been sitting for so long. Her butt was totally frozen, and that was when she'd been sitting on his lap. Yikes.

Foop took her hand by the wrist and moved it off his chest, though he didn't let go. "Now, now. That's a double standard, you tossing my private name about that way. We're over 150,000, and that intimacy is a privilege which has to be earned. We agreed. Come now, Anti-Marigold. You took my boots and my hoodie. Those things come with a price."

"Can't we just count listening to you blather on?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a step closer. She didn't step back. "Surely there's some part of my blather you'd care to hear. How shalt I serenade your ears? I can delight you with recountings of my victories over my peers in the academic realms, my careful studies of Fairykind biology, the times I very nearly had stupid Poof wriggling like a pathetic worm on the ends of my claws."

"Nah."

"Such a response was expected," he sighed, flicking the end of his scarf over his shoulder. He shivered, bringing his wings forward. "What, then?"

"I dunno…" Anti-Marigold pressed her hand against the left side of her neck. "I mean, I've never let anyone see my weave before 'til now, and then to show it to two boys in one day…"

"Hiccup was an accident. It was like a stage nip; it doesn't count. He won't mind." Foop extended his right hand, and gave a twitch of his claws. "Isn't this the perfect location to get your first real nip?"

Anti-Marigold let her eyes drift behind him. Packed ice and powder glittered like crystal all around them. They were away together on a vacation to an exotic planet. It was almost Christmas. No news reporters would catch she and her prince up here. He was barefoot, she wore his boots and sweatshirt, and they were alone in the beautiful snowy woods. What better night would there be? She'd always intended to get her first nip from someone she loved.

She'd just always imagined it would be from someone who loved her back the same way.

"Foop," she told him, shocking herself with how calm her voice sounded between the quiet pats of falling snow. "If I don't enjoy this, the whole mistress deal is off."

At that, Foop only smirked. "That won't be a problem, darling. Let me show you how the real master of these fangs does his job."

He clutched her back below her wing joints and dipped her down. His effervescence traced along her neck, sharply visible in the cold. Instead of animals, Foop turned his exhaled traces of magic into plants. Wispy vines curled. Leaves unfolded. Blossoms stretched misty petals towards the sky before they faded away.

His fangs hovered over the karmic pouch just below her jugular vein. He paused. "Um. You  _do_  want this, don't you, Anti-Marigold?"

"Yeah… I mean, you do, right?"

He shifted his eyes up to meet hers. "You know I'm all talk when I get flirtatious. I was only teasing when I didn't want you to draw away. We can stop."

Anti-Marigold blinked. "But I thought you wanted me?"

His eyes widened. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I just meant-"

"Just get it over with." Anti-Marigold fought the urge to cover her face, especially her mouth. "Hey, I'm  _sorry_  I can't nip y'all back. I'm sorry I've got flat teeth. I'm sorry we can't have that kind of intimacy and we've gotta use a knife and stuff. I'm sorry I'm  _weird_  and clingy and not what you're looking for-"

Foop cut her off by wrapping his arms and wings around her again. He straightened them both up and placed his chin just behind her shoulder. "Let's maybe stop for today. We kissed a lot."

"I'm sorry you don't want me!"

He tightened his wings. "Stop. I didn't mean to push you if you didn't want this. I'm not- I'm not like Hiccup."

She stood there, her arms dangling by her sides and her head tilted back. Maybe if her tears didn't drip on his shoulder, he wouldn't know she was crying.

"Anti-Marigold? Hiccup's… coming out. Let's go inside. If I can just make it to my papers-"

"Wait." It was her turn to say it this time. As expected, Foop trailed off, and turned to look at her with arched eyebrows. Anti-Marigold reached up and managed to massage the back of her neck despite his embrace. She sighed. "Foop, I can't nip ya, mate. But what if we, y'know, maybe kiff-tied for real instead?"

Abruptly, Foop dropped his wings and pulled away. The fur on his cheeks, pink from the cold, started to turn purple. "Y-you can't be serious. It's like -13° out here. Untangling our weaves when we're done could take an hour in itself. You… you promised Hiccup he could be first."

"I just- I thought- If I really meant so much to y'all…"

"Please." He looked away, flattening his ears. "Don't. Anti-Marigold, kiff-tying? That's- that's  _completely_ inappropriate for our relationship."

She brought her hand to her forehead. "I don't understand. Y'all just like my body. But y'all never want to get close with my mind."

"Stop." Foop lifted his hands, now covering his ears. His wings fluttered. "Anti-Marigold, it's not like that. I thought we were past this. I like you, but I don't like you like that. Kiff-tying is so- intimate. I  _can't_."

Anti-Marigold squared her shoulders, wings twitching. "Y'know, I totally paired with ya when y'all wanted to."

"Stop it." He rounded on her, still pressing his ears flat. "You're not being fair."

"Me meeting your physical needs while y'all don't meet my emotional needs isn't fair!"

"But-" He clenched his curls. "You can't use that against me like this. You're being childish."

"I am not!"

Foop took a step closer. She didn't step back. His heaving had started to pick up, his effervescence curling from his nostrils and between his fangs, turning into white coils of thorns before they faded into nothingness. The silent way he kept squeezing his eyelids shut and blinking suggested a serious mental battle with Hiccup on the other side.

She was going to have to be the one to back down. Wasn't she? To swallow her pride, to bow her head, to bite her lip, to let it be her prince's choice what they did, what she was to him…

But it felt  _so good_  to be the one to hurt him for a moment, instead of the other way around.

Foop stared at her a few seconds longer, then dropped his gaze to his bare toes. He curled them in the snow. "A-Anti-Marigold, if we kiff-tied… would you be happy then?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Oh gods, yes. Anti-Poof…" She pushed her wrist across her eyes. "It won't hurt so much, seeing y'all with your High Countess, knowing that you're talking to her, living with her… if I still get to be your first real, on purpose kiff-tie. I was the first one y'all ever kissed, the first one y'all sang with, you were gonna let me be the first one y'all nipped in an intimate sort of way, I think. Can't I be your first for this?"

"I can't." He tightened his arms around his torso. "Hiccup's coming out. Anti-Marigold, it's pointless. He comes out when I'm, well, getting upset like this. I can't stay out the whole time. It will never happen… Hey." Foop blinked hard. When he opened his eyes again, they were glittering with wetness, liquid amethysts, violet like the sunrise, purple like the handle of her hairbrush. "Anti-Marigold, you promised I could be first. Are you lying to me? You said I… he…" He blinked again. "Didn't you promise Hiccup could be your first?"

Anti-Marigold sighed. "Y'know, let's forget about kiff-tying today. We are a li'l young for it anyway. I mean, I've never even taken a class on how to do it right."

She looked up at him, waiting for Foop to slide smoothly in with a cocky, "Oh, but I went to school, and I'm a genius- I can teach you everything you need to know. It's easy, why don't we mind-meld what we both know, we'll figure it out as we go along… Something along the same lines of what he'd told her when she was anxious on the couch, watching the fingers on his right hand balance on her bare hip while his left cradled the back of her head.

Instead, Foop stared at the ground with his eyelids shut, his arms still wrapped around himself. He nodded feebly.

"Nebula," she murmured. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, come on. I said we're not doing that tying stuff anymore. It's okay if y'all want to wait a little longer. I'm not mad."

"I mean…" He raised his gaze. "Ideally, I'd prefer to wait forever."

Anti-Marigold paused to brush her fingers through her hair before she tried to fish his reasoning out of him. "For kiff-tying with me? Or kiff-tying with…" He looked at her, but didn't stop her, so she finished, "with anyone?"

Foop dropped his arms and leaned back on his heels. Then his arms went up again to fold behind his head. "If by that you mean, would I prefer to live my life without kiff-tying at all, then yes."

His confidence was forced. She could tell by the twitching of his wings, the avoidant gaze. Anti-Marigold rubbed her nose. "Uh. Wow. Okay, but… What about when you become High Count? What about Winni? Breath spirit ringing any bells? You  _know_ you're gonna have to when you're in charge and it's his year on the zodiac."

"I hardly think that will be a problem. First, Winni will have to struggle additionally hard to even manifest a form that my stubborn brain can see. I mean, I'm Daoist… not Zodii."

Her stomach pinched into a funnel and swirled away into her gut. Anti-Marigold took a step back. Her feet froze inside his fur-lined boots. "Not Zodii? You're D- D- How long have y'all been Daoist? Uh… Do your parents know about this?"

Foop reached his arm behind her neck and idly began to pluck his claws at her hair. "It's never been much of a secret. I've been an oddball since the days of my wonderfully tortured youth. Poof and I sat down and talked it out once when we were discussing our middle name. You won't go telling my parents, will you, darling?"

"But…" Anti-Marigold stared at the links in his knitted scarf, biting down on her lip. "I mean, you're our prince. You're gonna be our High Count, and without having the favor of the nature spirits… Foop, Winni is the healer! Under your rule, we were s'posed to be granted a time of total peace."

"That's all just Zodii talk and superstition," he insisted. He rubbed his nose. "We ought to move away from being such superstitious people and turn to hard, solid fact."

"Foop, we are  _literally_  Anti-Fairies. Luck and superstition, it's part of us. No, but- It's something we all believe, and it's s'posed to be true, and we've been looking forward to it. I…" Anti-Marigold lifted her gaze. " _I've_  been looking forward to it. I thought, y'know… Maybe this was it." She shrugged snowflakes from her wings. "Y'all were gonna be the High Count who won us rights and made it so we live in peace with the Fairies treating us like we're equals, or close to it. But if you're mocking Winni by ruling without him, y'all could literally start another war about our rights, instead of winning them over peaceably by, y'know, talking. Good communication."

Foop's fingers moved to the blue and pink drawstrings of her sweatshirt. He yanked her forward, his eyes sparkling above hers. "Then you see why all this needs to be our little secret. I  _can_ trust you, can't I, Anti-Marigold? With all those things I said about me being Daoist, not wanting to kiff-tie, and our private relationship as friends with benefits? I had hoped that I could trust you with that part of me. 'Peaceable' isn't really my style anyway."

It was almost too threatening of a line to kiss her on, but Anti-Marigold let him anyway. He leaned into her; she rocked just a hint back on her heels. He leaned forward again, this time clamping his long toes around the tip of her boot. Anti-Marigold waited to feel his teeth click against hers. For once, they didn't come. He took her upper lip between his without any trace of fangs getting in the way. His arms slid behind her head, his left hand clutching her pigtails together and his right sliding up near her crown.

Her wings prickled. She flapped once for balance. Foop pushed his mouth even closer to hers, until they were both open, effervescence mingling in a blur of peppermint and pineapple flavoring. Not to mention the ever-present Anti-Fairy blend of strawberry and brass. At first, Anti-Marigold didn't know what to do with her hands. With her left, she gripped an overhead offshoot of the evergreen branches, stinging needles digging into the creases of her palm. Foop's bony knees bumped into hers. She rose on the ends of her boots, unfurling her wings as he stretched towards her with his. Wind buffeted between them, shaking them back, but not for long. Several of his toes caught the hem of her pants, aimlessly gripping and releasing the fabric as though searching for a hold he could roost from.

She let go of the branch with her hand. It whipped into the air, scattering pretty flakes and glittering chunks of ice. It was funny, how their mouths had gotten even colder now that they were locked together, effervescence spinning in a whirl too fast to notice the shapes their expelled magic took on. Without breaking apart, Foop started to tilt his head the opposite way. Their noses bumped in the process. Anti-Marigold murmured something unintelligible even to her and adjusted her head to mirror his movement.

As their kiss drew out longer, she brought both hands to his waist. They lingered, briefly, then slid further down until she found his back pockets. She wriggled her fingers in. In response, Foop tightened his grip on her pigtails. His claws raked at the bands that held them tied. Why hadn't he just told her he'd have liked to see her hair down earlier? Dunno. Literally, her hands had been free  _any time_  before now. But instead, he felt blindly at her pigtails, his lips loosening, his soft tongue apprehensive against the roof of her mouth.

"Pfft." Anti-Marigold couldn't help herself. She opened her eyes, shaking both from cold and from suppressed snickers. Foop pulled away, tightening his eyebrows together in the middle.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Sorry, mate. It's just…" She pushed the underside of her wrist up her cheek. "Y'all've never used your tongue before, and I forgot that y'all's is so much thicker than mine. It tickles and I got distracted."

"Mock me, will you?" Foop grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air; her hands slipped from his pockets. "Have you ever tried kissing a girl whose tongue ends in a spiral like a moth proboscis?"

"Hey," she protested as he carried her even closer to the tree trunk. "Okay, first of all, I can officially confirm my theory that y'all have an anti-wisp for a gran, and your tongue is even longer than mine, so. Second, you  _liiike_ it."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd go as far as saying that." Foop plopped her down with her back right up against the conifer, her wings spread to either side. In the process, their crowns bumped against a needled bough, dumping snow on both their heads. Wetness trickled down her hair. He braced his hand against the tree beside her ear and twitched his mouth into the usual smirk. "Now, come on. You know I can't check to see if your fangs have retracted. Give me some sort of sign that you're enjoying this."

Anti-Marigold stuck up her chin. "I am enjoying this."

"Ah, but I'm a man of science, and I prefer to work with physiological measures and clearly observable data." His eyes wandered to her mouth again. "How long do you think it will be before I can make you squeak?"

"Hey, stop it, mate. You know anti-wisps don't make y'all's squeaks."

He tossed her his usual quip: "That's what they said before I tried, you mean."

"Nebula!" she shrieked as he pressed a fast kiss into the left side of her neck and let it stay. So  _now_  what was she supposed to do with her hands? Anti-Marigold bit her lip and pressed them behind her, tracing them across the rough bark of the conifer. Foop's fingers returned to her pigtails. His roaming kisses brought him down from her ear to a particular patch of thin fur just below her jugular. Probably, it was still dark purple from Hiccup's work on it in the bathroom. There Foop paused, hovering, with his mouth slightly open.

"I'm ready for it now," Anti-Marigold whispered when he continued to stay frozen and silent.

"I don't know how to do this," he said blankly. "I think I should have studied the literature more. I was under the impression that I was supposed to nip you now, but my fangs retracted when I became… when we were kissing."

She craned her neck as best she could. "Just your top set though, right? Can y'all still slice it with your bottom ones?"

Foop frowned, but positioned his mouth more carefully, taking her skin in the teeth that hadn't folded back. Anti-Marigold leaned her head back against the tree and did not refuse him.

But he didn't make the sharp tear. Instead, Foop went completely stiff. He pulled away. Anti-Marigold cracked open one eye to see him staring past her shoulder, his pupils shrunk and his ears quivering. Huh?

His wings snapped open. He shoved himself away from her; her fingers clenched against the tree bark. She started to say Hiccup's name, until she saw Foop tighten his fists. His red scarf whipped dramatically behind him in a gust of wind with perfect timing.

"Poof! How long have you been invading our privacy?"

Smoof.

Anti-Marigold turned slowly on her heel, pretending to be very interested in a fraying white tassel at the end of her own scarf. She risked a glance up to find Poof standing in the shadow of another enormous evergreen, arms folded, a gap-toothed grin etched across his pudgy face. He no longer sucked on a candy cane, though several clouds of effervescence still billowed from his mouth, nose, and hand, each puff forming into a bird, fish, or other graceful woodland creature before they darted off. He shrugged with his shoulders and wings together.

"Eh. Can't remember. Just thinking you two are disgustingly cute. It's the most wonderful time of year. Migration season."

_"No! Get out!"_

Poof ducked his counterpart's lousy powdered snowball with a chuckle. He bent down, tongue between his lips, and packed together one of his own. "Not on my watch, mate," Anti-Marigold growled, scooping up a chunk of ice. She reared her arm to throw, but Foop beat her to the punch by simply barreling into his counterpart with a feral howl. Both of them plowed into the snow, tumbled down a short rise, and proceeded to tussle- skinny intellectual on broad-shouldered athlete. Several fluffy white Delkian fauna took sudden flight with caws and squawks deeper into the trees. Normally, Poof would have been winning easily, but he was laughing so hard and trying to block his face, shouting protests as Foop dumped snow down his collar, that he simply wasn't in the right frame of mind.

Anti-Marigold shook her head. "I'll leave y'all ta fight for my honor while I head back and warm up, then. Come inside soon, mates. Seriously, it's heaps cold out here, even for Unseelie."

Foop brought both his hands down on the back of Poof's neck and slammed him face-first into a puffy snowdrift. "I sort of love you, Anti-Marigold," he whisper-called when she waved good-bye.

"I sort of love y'all too, Anti-Poof." Anti-Marigold was smiling when she turned around, but frowning when she lit her wings and flew off through the gently falling snow. She wrapped her hands in Hiccup's hoodie and shivered all over. She didn't mind the kissing. She really enjoyed the kissing. But it was a shame, wasn't it, to be in love with someone who constantly desired to get even more physical than that?

The exchange of benefits for something that she didn't…  _really_  mind offering up. To him, anyway. She didn't have a lot of friends, but she did have Foop. There was no one else she could imagine giving that part of herself away to.

She'd  _enjoyed_  that lazy Thursday afternoon she'd spent with Foop, mostly hidden beneath the heavy blankets as they binge-watched "Sorcery Hall" alone for hours. That had quelled most of the awkwardness and first-time jitters; luckily, it had just been a rerun, so she hadn't missed any of the important story. She and Foop had agreed once they were finished that the whole experience of intimacy had been "sort of 'meh'", but they'd acknowledged that they were simply young and inexperienced, that over the millennia they would master the craft, that they could only go up from here, that their inevitable first honey-lock wouldn't be so weird.

Mostly, the whole entertaining the Anti-Fairy prince gig with little promise of his emotional support sounded like a chore, but it was one she was willing to shoulder. After all, they were friends. With benefits? Perhaps. But that ending didn't change the first word. Foop seemed to care about her. She definitely cared about him. They were young, and they were figuring themselves out. Everything would come together someday.

"What makes you tick, Kelsia?" she murmured to herself. Beating her wings faster, she zipped out of the trees and headed towards the cabin.

Well then. If this was how she was going to make her living, then she'd just treat this experience like a job. The hours were flexible and she would conduct herself in a professional manner. She'd get her pretty home, and finally have just the roof she wanted over her head. Foop would get his intimacy needs met. He'd give attention to her, she'd give affection to him. It seemed like a fair trade.

… Right?

* * *

**A/N**  - As I'm sure most of us know, Smile Dip is a nod to the Smile Dip that appeared in "Gravity Falls", which in itself is a parody of Fun Dip.

Fun fact: Did you know the pheromones that make female moths amorous smell like pineapple, because I just found that out and _lost it_.


End file.
